A Verdant Mask

Mantichora (Manticore): The Manticore is a large, aggressive species of chimera. Often found guarding abandoned structures, these creatures were historically capable of determining the next true king, of any given kingdom. They have been known to interfere with non-monarchies, to unilateral confusion, and have a bad habit of eating people that do not bear a noble lineage. As such, stories of the manticore have stuck around as boogeymen long past the last time they have been discovered.

Warning: Will kill you. Do not fight. Run.

Recommendation: Do not be fighting a manticore. If for some reason you end up doing so anyway, their tails only articulate forwards. Stay behind it and you will be as safe as you can be.

-Guide to Vendalian Biology

Nick crept along the hall, holding his breath in anticipation, but the longer he walked without encountering anything, the more bored he became. Eventually, he stopped crouching, his ninja walk becoming a leisurely stroll. He idly wondered how a tunnel this uniform had been eroded, but he didn't really care enough to try and find out. Not that he knew how, but lacking in knowledge had never stopped him from pretending otherwise.

"Hey Voice, do you think I could learn how to talk with plants like you?"

I expect so. If memory serves, you managed it for a small amount of time earlier. I imagine it is only a matter of practice. Most things are, I find.

"Oh you find that, do you? That's real wise and all, but I didn't see you practicing your tree hugging."

I was a tree for my entire life, Nicholas. I would say that qualifies as adequate practice.

"Fair point, but you haven't had any other experiences. How can you make such sweeping statements about life?"

I have seen all of your experiences, Nicholas.

Nick shivered lightly. "Don't remind me. But you don't see me spouting proverbs."

I supposed I am just wiser than you.

"Oh, screw you," Nick chuckled. Hearing a noise in the dark, the smile dropped off his face, and he dropped into a crouch, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.

"What was that?"

I am unsure. The hallway opens up in about two feet, and there is no lichen on the roof or floor.

"That's ominous," he whispered. "Would I be safer if I hugged the wall?"

Potentially, but the difference in reaction time would be so little as to be negligible. The only tangible benefit it serves is to disallow being attacked in the back.

"I'll take it. Keep an... a branch? Keep a branch out for me." He chuckled weakly, the attempt at a joke falling flat.

I will endeavor to 'keep a branch out', Nicholas.

Nick didn't respond, instead creeping around the corner. So quiet as to be imaginary, the echo of a gentle rasp bounced around the room. His pulse pounding in his ears, he took careful steps, ensuring that he only stepped on what little lichen reached to the floor. Step by step, quietly trusting the words of a parasite turned ally, he crept past the midpoint of the room. Sweat rolled down his brow, dripping into his eye, but he just blinked it away. One step, then another. Left. Right. Left. A scrape, barely perceptible, from the hall he had come from. Gentle padding steps crawled into his ears like insects. A low, ominous rumble. Nick stopped, dead in his tracks, so frozen as to be mistaken for a statue. Two bright, shining spots like flashlights in the darkness. And from behind those lights, a voice, dripping with malice.

"The stench... what a vile smell to subject me to. Little manling, you...reek. I could smell your pedestrian blood a league away." The deep, rumbling voice grew closer, hanging just over his head. The light shone into his eyes, blinding him, until slowly the room lit up. An ominous, deep red grew from the floor to the ceiling, dripping like water in reverse. Nick's eyes had no trouble adapting to the gradual lighting change, allowing him to see the monster lurking in the darkness. Its body was long, and covered in a thick coat of golden fur. The fur didn't obscure the lean, powerful muscle wrapping all four of the creature's legs like steel cords. Glittering obsidian claws dug into the stone floor, leaving grooves behind as it slowly padded forward. Hovering far above, almost scraping the ceiling, was a massive scorpion tail. It was covered in blood red chitin, it's wicked point leaking a noxious green liquid. Spikes extended from the joints, glimmering menacingly in the dim light. But by far the most disturbing part of the creature was its face. Though scaled up proportionally, it was very obviously human. It looked to be a middle aged man, the expression pulled back in a feral grin. Its golden eyes glittered with barely restrained malice. its thin lips parted to reveal several overlapping rows of jagged, pointed teeth. A sinuous, forked tongue flickered out of the creature's mouth as it spoke once more.

"I can smell your fear, little manling. Where did you come from, peasant?" The Manticore, as Nick's panicked mind had managed to recognize, prowled forward, a low growl building in the back of its throat, until it stopped directly in front of him. Nick chuckled nervously, an entirely involuntary act the he immediately, soundlessly, berated himself for.

"You find humor in this, peasant? How curious, I do as well." A screech rang out as the Manticore dragged its razor sharp claws through the floor.

"N-n-no, sir?" Nick stuttered, frantic. His mind was running a mile a minute, desperately searching for a way out.

Calm yourself, Nicholas.

"Calm myself?!" He hissed. "What about this should be calming?!" Oddly enough, the exchange focused him just enough to begin thinking of an actionable plan, but it required that he distract the Manticore. Preferably without being eaten.

"Um, Mr. Manticore, sir?"

"Manticore?" It said, tasting the word. "Is that what they call my kind these days? How intriguing. I approve!" The beast chuckled, rattling Nick's bones.

"I believe so, sir," Nick channeled the Voice as best he could, erring on the side of politeness. "May I ask, What were you talking about in regards to my smell?"

"Of course, little plebian. I cannot expect one as pedestrian as you to be familiar. We Manticores have a very developed sense of smell. So developed, in fact, that we can divine the bloodline of the king purely from the smell of their blood! It is our calling, our noble duty! And I could smell how completely pedestrian you were since you entered this cave." The Manticore's voice had been filled with pride during its explanation, the malice falling away for just a moment, but the good news didn't last. Once the explanation ended, the hunger in its eyes returned in full force.

"Kings, huh?" Nick latched onto the subject like a drowning man to a life preserver. "Is it specifically royalty that you can smell?" Luckily, the inquiry into its smell seemed to distract it.

"Of course not. We can detect traces of any nobility in a bloodline up to 7 generations removed! From the lowest gentleman to the grandest emperor, we are the final line in determining truth from fiction."

"That's so interesting! What about republics?"

The Manticore spit on the floor, the liquid hissing as a divot slowly carved its way into the stone. It sat on its hind legs imperiously.

"Republics? Cowardice! Why live in a community if you aren't willing to give anything up? How can you expect to receive the benefits if you won't make the sacrifices?"

"Is it not better to make less sacrifices? Decentralized leadership also helps deal with assassinations, too!"

"This is nothing. Loyalty is about making sacrifices! How can you ensure loyalty if no sacrifices are made! And assassins? Don't make me laugh. If you allow your kingdom to fall because of a single assassin, you were undeserving of your bloodline."

Nick was getting into it now. "But if kings can be undeserving, what is the purpose of a dedicated bloodline? Would it not be better to select whoever would do the best job? What if the next king was raised poorly?"

The Manticore growled. "To rule with dishonor is the highest disrespect. Should a king be undeserving of their bloodline, then it is a Manticore's duty to strip them of it. Violently. A Manticores duty is to raise future kings, regardless. We would never allow them to claim the throne if they were not fit for it. Should the bloodline end, so shall the kingdom."

"But what about all of the people living in the kingdom?" Nick pressed. "If the kingdom falls, what happens to them?"

"The commoners? They are unimportant, there's always more of them."

"You can't have a kingdom without subjects!" Nick was about to go on, having somehow managed to forget that the Manticore was almost certainly going to murder him dead, when the Voice tugged at his mind. He jolted, remembering the plan that he had just come up with. Suddenly, his eyes widened with shock. He looked at something incredible just over the Manticore's shoulder.

"What is that?!" He yelled. The Manticore shot him the most deadpan look he had ever seen in his life.

"I have lived in this cave for as long as this kingdom has been in ruins, peasant. There is nothing behind me."

"No seriously! What is it?!"

The Manticore sighed. "Fine, but if there is nothing behind me, I will eat you, manling." The Manticore turned, preventing Nick from seeing the exact moment when its pupils dilated. The wall that Nick had been staring at was writhing, tendrils of lichen stretching from the wall. The Manticore's hackles raised, its scorpion tail swishing back and forth with a slice. Its prey forgotten, it pounced on the strands, the cue Nick was waiting for to begin sprinting down the hall. He would have headed back the way he came, but the positioning made it unfeasible. Instead, he charged further into the cave. He was no longer worried about tripping, now that there was some amount of light. He noticed a change to the hallway as he ran by. The flat covering of lichen along the walls was now marred occasionally by wooden roots, stretching across the walls like veins.

The Manticore roared, a thunderous sound that he felt in his bones, like the world was ending and it was his fault. It had seemed far too large to fit through the corridor, but the sound echoed so as to seem right behind him. Rather inadvisably, he looked back to see the Manticore following him, though significantly smaller. Where before it had towered over him, now its body was the size of a large dog, allowing it to chase after him. The Manticore's reduced stature did not diminish Nick's terror, instead pushing him to sprint even faster. Just as he turned around, he saw the monster's tail flicker forward, though it was too far behind him to even approach. Nick's confidence faltered when a gleaming spike blasted a hole in the wall beside him. The Manticore looked to be relishing the horror on his face, if its wicked grin was anything to go by.

"YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER, MANLING! I WILL CATCH YOU AND I WILL RELISH THE TASTE OF YOUR BONES!" The Manticore announced, seemingly unaffected by the sprint. Nick could not say the same, however, as he was already flagging.

He gasped out, "Voice, what now?"

Please do not distract me, Nicholas. This root system is proving less than cooperative.

As Nick continued running, his faltering breaths clawing their way out of his throat, the Voice was engaged in tense negotiations with the root system visible throughout the stone walls.

All I ask is you divert the course of a number of offshoots in order to block off this space.

The roots didn't speak a language, per se, but if a translation were possible it would look something like: I don't want to.

I understand, but I do want you to. This is the purpose of negotiation.

I do not like your 'negotiation.' I do not want to divert my course. There are little nutrients in that direction.

You will expend less energy in this direction, as there is more open air instead of dense rock.

The roots considered. This may be true, but I still don't want to. You have disturbed my slumber.

I will never ask you for another thing, should you do this.

...Alright.

The tunnel rumbled ominously, a shower of dust falling from the ceiling. Nick glanced up, worriedly.

"Voice, I don't mean to pressure you but I don't like the look of that."

There is no cause for concern. Are you capable of moving faster?

"Maybe a little? Why?"

Do it.

Nick didn't argue. He dug deep, reaching for the last dregs of energy left. He angled himself slightly more forward, head down. One step, then another, in quick succession separated him from the Manticore, who was distracted by eyeing the walls warily. His feet ached, the soles bruised, but he couldn't stop. He didn't allow himself to even consider slowing down, just powering on with all of his might. The rumbling grew worse, until it felt like the very world was coming apart. Small rocks and stones fell from the ceiling, clattering to the floor below. The sweat along Nick's back was covered in dust, forming a shell of grime along his shoulders. Just as Nick was about to stumble, his energy all but gone, the Voice gave him one more instruction.

Dive!

With no hesitation, he launched himself forward, just in time for the walls behind him to crumble with a thunderous crash. Wooden roots speared through the stone, barely slowed down. Ten, twenty, more roots than he could count launched through the space, until it was a solid wall of roots, blocking Nick on one side, and the Manticore on the other. The roar that followed shook free what little dust remained on the ceiling, coating Nick's panting face, as he lay on the ground. Though he was in terrible shape, with multiple reopened wounds all over his body, a slightly manic grin stretched across his face.

"Dude! Oh my god! That was so close!" He laughed, relief almost dripping off of him.

I know! I didn't think we would make it! The Voice's usual accent had fallen away in its excitement.

"That was absolutely perfect dude!"

I had no idea you could run that fast!

"Neither did I!" He laughed.

You stalling the Manticore was amazing!

"I just started saying things I remembered from Social Studies! Dude your timing there was perfect!"

I almost couldn't convince the root system. I had to promise never to ask it for anything ever again!

They both laughed at that, before slowly falling silent. Where before it might have been awkward, their experiences had pushed them together. They already understood each other perfectly, and this success was the most positive experience for either of them since they had met. So it wasn't much of a surprise to either when Nick's right hand, which had been stuck in the last position it had been moved into for almost a day now, hesitantly shifted into a thumbs up.

Allowing the Voice to move his hand was a strange feeling. It felt kind of like getting an electric shock, the kind that clenches your muscles and straightens your hair, but without any of the pain. It still felt like a part of him, but he couldn't feel things through it. His proprioception for it still worked for it, it was still his arm, but he had no control of it at all. But Saul seemed almost preternaturally good at understanding his wishes. He thought about splaying his hand out to help push himself up, and the hand had already moved before he had even finished thinking about it. It was strange, considering the circumstances of their meeting, but Nick had grown profoundly grateful to have met the Voice. Which made it all the more uncomfortable that it didn't have a name.

"So, I've been thinking..."

I am aware, Nicholas. The Voice's level demeanor had reasserted itself once the exhilaration had worn off, much to its embarrassment.

"Do you have any ideas? Anything you'd want me to call you?"

I will admit, I have been giving it some thought in the interim of our last conversation on this topic. Nick gave the air where he imagined the Voice to be the stink eye, eliciting a chuckle.

"Well, why don't we start with something easier. Are you a boy or a girl?"

Plants do not have genders, Nicholas. Shame on you.

"Oh you know what I meant. What's your gender?"

I believe I am gravitating towards male. My voice can sound like anything, but this feels... correct, to me.

"Alright, you're a dude, cool! Now, how old are you?"

Two days, Nicholas. I do not see the bearing this has on my name.

"It is very important, I'll have you know. You don't want a name that is just 'hand' in another language?"

You don't know any other languages.

"Then its a good thing you don't want one!"

I'm beginning to fear your naming conventions.

"Sorry I can't hear you over how good of a name this is. Say hello to," With great effort, he raised his right hand, "Assault," and then his left, "and Battery! Saul for short!"

You are not calling me Assault and Battery.